


Hook Shot

by lethargicProfessor



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>goodluckdetective asked you:<br/>When Bruce was a kid, after his parents death, he gained the attention of a school bully. When he comes home with a black eye, he tries to hide it from Alfred but no luck. To his shock Alfred doesn't get mad at him; he fucking rants about the bully. Long story short? This was the first time Bruce heard Alfred swear.</p>
<p>For Goodluckdetective's Fluff War</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook Shot

His head hurt. He never knew that black eyes would _hurt_ so much.

Bruce poked the purpling area around his eye lightly, wincing. His reflection winced back, looking pale and miserable.

There was a soft knock at the door, followed by an even softer whisper. “Bruce…?”

“Come in, it’s empty.”

She slipped inside quickly, shutting the door lightly. “What happened? The whole school says you got in a fight…” Her sentence drifted off into a small gasp as she took in his appearance. “Oh, Bruce…”

“I’m fine, Zee,” he sighed, sitting on the floor slowly. “I just need your help covering it up.”

“Why?” She slung her bag off her shoulder, sitting in front of him, mouth tugging into a frown. “It’s not like it’ll help much…your eye is already swelling up.”

“Can you do it or not?” He didn’t mean to snap, but he was hurt and upset and he wished more than anything that he could have been stronger.

Zatanna sighed but nodded, digging through her bag for a small makeup pouch. “Sure…It won’t help much, but from far away no one will be able to tell.”

He nodded stiffly, wincing when her fingers brushed the bruise. “Sorry…I’ll try to be careful, I promise.”

She moved slowly, gently, pressing the makeup brush against the bruise, blending the powder above it to fade away the marks. The bristles poked his skin occasionally, but thankfully, the pain was minimal. Nothing could hurt more than the initial shock, the first burst of pain as the bully’s fist connected with his face.

“What happened, Bruce…?” Zatanna sat back slowly, snapping her makeup compact shut, and tilted his chin up to view her work. “Tommy’s going on a rampage but no one knows for sure what happened.”

“He just…came at me.” Bruce looked down, scratching at the teal tiles absently. “He said…I should have died too. Then Gotham wouldn’t have to deal with rich bastards.”

“And he punched you?” He shook his head, wrinkling his nose as his head pounded.

“Sort of…I got mad. I said that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that…you know…my parents didn’t deserve that…so he came swinging at me after that.”

She leaned over, hugging him tight enough to crush the air out of his lungs. She smelled like coconut. “Bruce, don’t you dare believe that for a second, alright? You’re alive for a reason. You’re going to make your parents proud, somehow. And you know you have your friends to back you up. Forget that bully. Just leave him to me and Tommy. Okay?”

He felt weak. He didn’t want his friends fighting his battles, but he nodded slowly. He wasn’t about to argue with Zatanna in the boys’ restroom at school. “Okay…”

“Good.” She kissed the top of his head, the way his mother used to before school, and stood. “I gotta go, but I’ll ask my dad if I can come by to check on you. Are you gonna be okay?”

_Not really, no_. He missed his parents. He hurt. But he nodded, cracking a faint smile. “Sure, Zee. See you.”

“Alright. Bye, Bruce. Love you.” She smiled and waved, slipping out of the room, the door shutting with a whisper.

“Love you,” he sighed, standing slowly to check himself in the mirror. He still looked pale, and his eye was a bit puffy, but the makeup had done its job. It would hide the worst of it from Alfred, at least. He couldn’t stand seeing the disappointed look on his face. At least it wasn’t blood this time.

He hid in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon, slipping out right before the last bell of the day, hoping to blend in with the crowds. If he could reach the cars without being noticed, then he could sit in the back and hide…until the bruise went away. How long would that take?

He hadn’t really thought that plan out.

Bruce was nearly across the quad when a hand reached out to grip his shoulder. His heart shot into his throat, and he wondered if it would be easier to run away or kick him and run, when he was spun around. Tommy Elliot gripped his chin, frowning critically.

“She did a good job, I guess,” he grumbled, squishing his cheeks. Bruce squirmed, trying to pull away.

“Tommy, knock it off. I need to go before Alfred gets mad.” He had never gotten mad before, but there was no reason to put him to the test. Alfred was all he had. If he messed up, did just one thing wrong, maybe Alfred would toss him into an orphanage or something.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Tommy pulled back, shrugging. He looked scuffed up, with the remains of a nosebleed across his blazer, but didn’t seem to bothered by it. “I’ve seen my share of shiners, Brucie. Put some ice on it soon as you get home and take some painkillers.”

“I will. Thanks, Tommy.” Bruce sighed, looking around. The crowd of students was already thinning, and if he waited any longer, he would be left out in the open. “I gotta go…we’ll talk later, though, okay?”

“Sure thing, Bruce. Love ya.”

“Love you too, Tommy.” Bruce smiled faintly, waving, and jogged off.  Alfred was already waiting for him, leaning against the town car, his dad’s old favorite. When he saw Bruce coming, he stepped on the curb, opening the door for him.

Bruce dove into the backseat, breathless, and hoped Alfred wouldn’t say anything. “Hi Alfred.”

“Master Bruce,” the older man greeted, shutting the door carefully before walking around to the driver’s side. “Did you have a good day at school?”

“It was fine.” Bruce hunched in his seat, setting his bag in his lap in an effort to create a barrier. “I’m really tired, so I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“It’s only four in the afternoon.” Alfred didn’t turn around, but he did catch a glimpse of his young charge in the rearview mirror. He was huddled in his seat, looking down at his bag as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Did something happen at school?” It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out, but it made Bruce jump in his seat anyways, a wide, panicked look on his face.

“N-no…?”

Alfred sighed, driving in silence for the remainder of the journey home, wondering how he would address the problem. Bruce squirmed in his seat, nervously watching Wayne Manor as it approached, big and ominous and _empty._

He briefly considered making a run for his room as soon as Alfred stopped the car, but he couldn’t get the latch undone. Alfred walked around the car, opening the door slowly, and kneeled down in front of him. “Bruce.”

He never called him that unless he was really in trouble, and a slew of apologies bubbled from his lips. Alfred frowned, but said nothing, waiting for the words to die in his throat. Ashamed, Bruce looked down, waiting for the reprimand that was sure to come.

Slowly, Alfred reached over, brushing his cheek lightly, rubbing away the makeup on the bruise. “My word…”

“I’m sorry, Alfred, I’m sorry…”

The butler stood slowly, pulling Bruce out of the car, and hugged him tight, stroking his hair slowly. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Bruce. You haven’t done anything wrong. Just, please tell me what happened.”

Babbling through tears and the lump in his throat, Bruce explained everything about the bully and the abuse and the bloody noses and bruises and rumors spread about him, about how he _killed his parents and he didn’t he didn’t do it he didn’t mean to_ —

Alfred shushed him slowly, kneeling down again to look him in the eyes, brushing away the tears. Bruce was shaking, holding back sobs, stifling them into hiccups. “Bruce. Listen to me. You did _not_ kill your parents. This little _arsehole_ knows nothing about what happened to your parents. They were wonderful people, as are you. That this boy thinks it is acceptable to bully you, or anyone for that matter, based on a tragic accident is unacceptable, and we _will_ take care of this.”

Bruce hiccupped faintly, trying not to giggle. He had never heard Alfred swear before, or sound so angry at anyone, but it helped that he wasn’t upset at him. “They’ll still bully me if you go and get them in trouble…”

Alfred frowned, standing slowly, and slipped a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away the tears from the young boy’s face. “That may be so, Master Bruce. That means we will need to find another way to deal with these…people. But first, we need to ice that bruise. We can discuss strategy over dinner. If things go well, I may be persuaded into making dessert.”

Bruce laughed, wiping his face clean, and nodded. “Can we invite Tommy and Zatanna over too?”

“The more the merrier, Master Bruce.”


End file.
